Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70516 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70516 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
But when I did have to show, I would tell all.
And I wouldn’t hold back a single thing.
Because sick, disgusting people like that didn’t deserve to breathe free air.
“They denied him bail due to the judge believing him a flight risk.”
“Good.”
“Your mother, however, was awarded bail. As well as Andrews. Audrey was also denied bail.”
“Good,” I said. “I’m not too happy with Andrews getting bail, or my mother for that matter. But Audrey and my father…I’m happy about that.”
“I’m not happy that you’re working here with our impressionable young girls, but here we are.”
Both of us turned to see the one mom that I despised staring at us with no ounce of remorse for listening in on our conversation.
The problem with this mother was that her daughter was an absolute sweetheart. That girl, Fray, was a mediocre at best soccer player, but was just happy to be on the team and be with her friends. It’d been three whole years of her not playing all that much because she didn’t have the skill set to compete against other soccer players her age. When we were winning at least three to nothing, I put her in. She got playing time. Just not as much as her mother would like.
Her mother thought Fray was the best soccer player on the field and deserved more playing time than she got. And took it out on me every time she saw me, letting me know that she didn’t agree with my coaching style.
She was probably the leader of the “get Coach E fired” brigade.
“Hello, Mrs. Gatsby.”
Mrs. Gatsby was the talk of the town, and not for a good reason.
Her husband had been cheating on her with any woman who looked his way. He was rich, powerful, and very uninterested in his wife. His kid, on the other hand? He loved his kid and made it to every soccer game despite her not playing.
He was also very blunt with Mrs. Gatsby about Fray’s status on the team.
As an ex-professional soccer player himself, he knew what it took.
And he knew his daughter didn’t have it.
Mrs. Gatsby sniffed at me and turned up her nose, giving me the cold shoulder.
Weaver’s hand tightened on my arm, not painfully, but enough that I could tell he was angered.
“Coach E!”
I looked to find three of my seniors, including Fray, walking our way along with Bossy.
“Hey, girls.” I smiled.
“Is this your boyfriend?”
I looked up at Weaver, studying his strong jaw, covered in a couple days’ worth of beard stubble. His blue-gray eyes that changed colors depending on the lighting. His chocolate-brown hair and his perfectly plump lips.
Before I could answer them, Bossy answered for me.
“They’re dating,” Bossy chirped. “Dad’s trying to figure out how long they have to date before it’s acceptable to ask her to marry him, though.”
I watched Weaver’s lips kick up.
Eyes sparkling, he said, “I’m thinking it has to be three months. That way everyone knows that we’re a thing, and it doesn’t look like we jumped into anything drastically.”
The seniors all smiled.
“Dad and my mother did that,” Fray added in.
It was telling how she called her dad “dad” and her mom “mother.”
It also made me want to blurt out, “Maybe we should wait six months!”
“Let’s go, Fraya,” Mrs. Gatsby ordered.
“Actually, I have my own car today, remember? I was just coming over here to remind you,” Fray, who hated to be called Fraya since it was also her mother’s name, said. “I’ll see you at home. I’m going to stop by the public library until they close to get my school science project finished with these two.”
Mrs. Gatsby’s mouth pursed. “I forgot your father loaned you his car.”
Fray smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes.
“Be home by eight for dinner.”
“Actually, we’re having a team dinner tonight with the soccer team, remember?”
I could practically see Mrs. Gatsby’s eyes lighting with fire.
Her eyes turned to me as she said, “You won’t be there, I’m assuming.”
I shook my head. “This is a player-led team dinner. No coaches allowed.”
No coaches invited, more aptly put, but I wasn’t going to say that to her.
“Fine.” She turned away from me. “Fraya, I’ll see you at home. Curfew is eight-thirty.”
“Dad told me I could stay out until ten,” she said. “If I come home at eight-thirty, I won’t even get to eat dinner.”
“Nine.”
“Ten.” Fray shrugged. “I have to go pick up Dad from work, anyway, since I have his car. So don’t expect me home then, either. Dad has a work meeting.”
With that, Fray and the other two seniors walked off, leaving the three of us in an awkward silence as Mrs. Gatsby watched her walk away.
Sensing the weird tension in the air, Weaver caught my arm and guided us away from the clearly fuming woman.
“What a meanie,” Bossy whispered when we were far enough away.